


broken sword, healing rain

by CocoaBop



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Disabled Character, Drama, Fights, M/M, Minor Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai, Minor Violence, Pining, Prince Oh Sehun, Romance, joseon era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocoaBop/pseuds/CocoaBop
Summary: Former general Park Chanyeol is called to the palace to tutor an enigmatic young prince in the art of war.
Relationships: Oh Sehun/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37
Collections: Desert Fire Fest Round 1





	broken sword, healing rain

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt DF005, written for the Desert Fire Fest, a Park Chanyeol/Oh Sehun fest. 
> 
> Daejang = General

Whenever the rain poured down and the thunder rolled across the sky, Chanyeol’s left leg ached. The old men back in his quiet village blamed their bouts of arthritis on the weather itself, claiming the humidity set something off in the bones. But Chanyeol knew the weather wasn’t what caused him pain – no, it was the memories the foul weather stirred up.

Today’s thunderstorm was fiercer than most. In the summer, a sudden downpour passed by almost every afternoon, but today’s storm sustained its rage through evening. Chanyeol watched the sky darken as he sat on a lacquered bench, sheltered from the pelting rain by the eaves of the palace guesthouse. He idly massaged his calf while fanning himself with a silk fan a servant had thoughtfully left for him on his bed when he arrived.

Chanyeol had been waiting all day. He was sure that when the rain stopped, the banquet would begin.

But for now, the sky still roiled angrily. A flash of lightning was followed only a moment later by a crack of thunder that rumbled for some time, and Chanyeol knew the storm gods were right above him. His leg tensed up with pain. 

A fierce storm just like this one had thrown his immaculate troops into chaos that fateful day on the battlefield. He had twisted his ankle in the mud and slipped into the slick churn of blood and floodwater. His ungainly fall saved his life – a soldier mounted on a horse slashed his blade right where Chanyeol had stood a moment earlier. Chanyeol heard the whoosh of the blade and quickly rolled over, forcefully thrusting his spear into the throat of the rider before they could finish him off. But the startled horse had bucked and trampled over Chanyeol’s leg. His cry of pain was drowned out by the claps of thunder. He could barely see through the mud and rain stinging his eyes. Figures ran to and fro above him. The hard shoe of some soldier struck his head and there his memory ended.

“Park Daejang?” A voice shook him out of his recollections. “Sir, dinner is ready. Advisor Kim is waiting for you.” 

Chanyeol glanced up at the palace servant who had been sent to summon him. The rain had faded to a drizzle. He gave his leg one last squeeze before swinging it over the bench and standing up slowly.

“Sir, shall I…” The servant started towards Chanyeol’s elegant cane, which was leaning against the wall a few steps away from him.

“ _No._ ” 

The servant froze and watched Chanyeol as he painfully limped over to the cane. Its polished knob, carved into the shape of a dragon’s head, fit perfectly into his large hand. He sighed as he leaned into its familiar support. He shook his stiff leg several times, then followed the servant out into the mist.

****

“Has your stay so far been pleasant? If there’s anything you need – anything at all – just let me know, and I will do my best to accommodate you.” Royal advisor Kim Junmyeon smiled widely at Chanyeol, but Chanyeol knew better than to trust him. Beneath his blandly handsome face and perfectly pressed robes, Junmyeon was a shrewd, calculating man. Chanyeol knew he needed to be careful around Junmyeon, but he had no energy for these political games.

“To be honest, Advisor Kim, what I really want is to be back at my village estate,” sighed Chanyeol. A servant moved to pour him some rice wine, but Chanyeol covered his porcelain cup with his hand. “I miss how green it is there, how quiet,” he continued. It had taken Chanyeol several days to travel by horse to the palace from the remote village where he had taken up residence after getting injured. In his convalescence, he had discovered a deep appreciation for the pace of country life. The palace felt crowded and gray in comparison. “And I much prefer waking up to the sound of my rooster crowing, not those annoying palace gongs.”

Junmyeon chuckled. “Ah yes, the king does appreciate punctuality. It’s part of what makes him so successful as a ruler – introducing standardized timekeeping across the realm.” Junmyeon signaled the servants, who began laying out exquisite banchan dishes. “But we didn’t come here to discuss imperial scheduling, did we? You know, General Park, I was so pleased when you accepted my invitation to come here and discuss Prince Oh’s education.”

Chanyeol inwardly rolled his eyes. Everyone knew that ignoring an invitation from the palace was exceedingly unwise.

“Now that you’re here, I hope we can show you how lovely it is to reside at the palace.” Junmyeon clapped his hands together. “Shall we eat?”

While sampling the appetizers, Chanyeol and Junmyeon made further small talk – the war, the weather – skirting around the elephant in the room as their metal chopsticks grazed over ever-more-sumptuous dishes. 

It wasn’t until the plates had been cleared, leaving only dessert – dragonfruit and lychee – that Junmyeon returned to his earlier subject. 

“Now, General Park, I must say that this is a critical moment in the prince’s education. He is well-poised to be named the royal successor – if his father sees it fit – so as his advisor, I have taken it upon myself to provide him with the finest teachers in every subject.” Junmyeon expertly twirled his chopstick and stabbed a slide of dragonfruit. “His prior tutor in the art of warfare, well, he recently left us, you see. The prince… ah, he chafed under that teacher’s, ahem, rather traditional views on the subject.” 

Chanyeol waited patiently as Junmyeon chose his words. 

“I believe that the prince would benefit from someone with more recent experience… that is, someone who is not three times his age, who could perhaps convince him to become passionate about the subject, or at least take some interest in it.” Junmyeon’s smile hadn’t faltered throughout the dinner, though Chanyeol could tell he was straining now. 

Chanyeol narrowed his eyes. Reading between the lines, it sounded like Prince Oh had probably thrown out his old tutor in a tantrum. He must be one of those spoiled brats who was more interested in indulging in the spoils of luxury than governing a small kingdom. 

“What makes you think I’m the right person for that job?” Chanyeol inquired.

“Well, I’m so glad you asked,” crowed Junmyeon. “You may not think so yourself, but you have quite the reputation here. The elusive, brilliant general, who retired rather than taking a plum position in the court.”

Neither of them mentioned that the only reason Chanyeol had been faced with that choice was because of his debilitating injury. His fighting days had all ended in that storm. 

“You flatter me, Advisor Kim. I’m nothing but a washed up old soldier.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t have made the trip here if you didn’t think you could be useful, no?” 

Chanyeol had to admit that Junmyeon had a point. His bucolic solitude had helped him heal, but when the summons arrived, he felt an old spark of purpose he hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

“Besides,” continued Junmyeon. “There’s a lot in it for you. We would pay you handsomely. And this would be a short-term arrangement. Just until the prince is named as the royal successor.”

“You mean _if_ the prince is named as such.” 

Junmyeon’s smile this time was clearly wolfish. “Your assistance would make Prince Oh’s succession all the more likely, General Park. Prince Oh is young, yes, but he has a sharp mind. He just needs a little… well, guidance. With our kingdom caught in these dreadful battles, whoever is to be named successor will need to demonstrate strong knowledge of the art of warfare.”

Chanyeol understood then that he was just a pawn in a bigger game. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the prince, who was also being moved around the chessboard by Junmyeon and probably many other advisors. How many parasites would feed off the prince’s power if and when he became the royal successor? Political battles were not so different from military ones, and the prince, it seemed, sorely needed education on both.

“I’ll do it,” said Chanyeol suddenly, surprising even himself. “But after that, it’s back to the countryside for me.”

****

The next morning, Chanyeol awoke to several potted plants newly arranged around his guesthouse. A note was tied to the slim trunk of a young ficus tree. 

_Lessons with Prince Oh begin tomorrow after the third morning gong. Until then, please enjoy this bit of greenery to help you feel a bit more at home. –KJM_

****

The center of the palace felt much grander and more open than Chanyeol’s distant guesthouse. Of course, the palace guesthouse was still luxurious by Chanyeol’s standards, but the closer one got to the center of the palace, the more dramatic the architecture and décor became.

Chanyeol waited for Prince Oh in a large, ornate pavilion that was to be their classroom. Chanyeol himself was on time, but the prince was not. 

The scuffling sound of footsteps across stone told him that the prince’s retinue had finally arrived. Chanyeol swiveled on his bench, and saw the prince step gracefully into the pavilion. 

Prince Oh Sehun was older than Chanyeol had expected, not a boy but a handsome young man with broad shoulders and a piercing gaze. He was almost as tall as Chanyeol himself. His features looked carved from ivory, but the soft pout of his petal-pink lips belied his youth. 

Trying not to stare, Chanyeol rose slowly so that he might bow properly to the prince.

Prince Oh’s dark eyes fell on Chanyeol’s cane, leaning against the massive polished wood table in the classroom. “Please, Park Daejang. You don’t have to rise.” 

His soft voice surprised Chanyeol. “I’m fine,” Chanyeol retorted through gritted teeth. He straightened up, then bowed deeply. 

Prince Oh nodded stiffly in return. His guards filed in and lined the room. Chanyeol supposed he would have to get used to their presence. He disliked this additional surveillance – who knew which of them was in the pocket of some other scheming advisor. 

A slight man in a plain robe and a deep green band wrapped around his head stepped into the pavilion and stood beside Prince Oh. The Prince seemed to relax ever so slightly at his presence, Chanyeol noticed. 

“General Park,” said the prince, “This is my personal advisor, Do Kyungsoo.”

 _Personal_ advisor, Chanyeol noted. So this man was closer to the prince than Advisor Kim, and more trusted, evidently. 

Kyungsoo bowed to Chanyeol, and Chanyeol returned the gesture, leaning heavily on his cane. “We apologize for the delay, General Park,” Kyungsoo said in a low, calm voice. “I will do my best to ensure we are more prompt in the future. Please don’t mind me, as I accompany the prince to all of his lessons.” Kyungsoo bowed again, and backed away to a discreet seat in the corner of the pavilion. Chanyeol found himself appreciating the soft-spoken man, far more likeable than preening Advisor Kim.

Prince Oh was still standing, looking at Chanyeol steadily, so Chanyeol gestured for him to be seated, waiting until the guards had pulled out an ornate chair for the prince and arranged him comfortably in it. Chanyeol slowly lowered himself back to his bench, trying not to feel self-conscious under the prince’s intense gaze. Ordinarily, Chanyeol was brazen about his cane and his limp – he would not suffer anyone’s pity. But Prince Oh’s gaze held no pity – only a watchful curiosity. 

Chanyeol cleared his throat to puncture the silence. “Shall we begin, then?” 

Prince Oh nodded imperiously.

Chanyeol pulled out a set of maps, and unrolled one in front of the prince. The parchment was old, yellowing, soft and fraying at the edges. Prince Oh’s nose wrinkled at the dust. 

“What do you see here, Prince Oh?” asked Chanyeol.

The prince looked down his nose at the map. His posture was impeccable. “It’s a map of our kingdom, of course.” His eyes flicked impatiently to Kyungsoo, as if continuing some earlier conversation. The calm advisor merely nodded, and the prince returned his attention to the map.

“What does and doesn’t the map include?”

The prince squinted. “It doesn’t have the names of many places. Some cities are marked, but not the administrative regions… and the very border of the kingdom is barely drawn.” He sat back in his chair. “It’s not a very good map, is it?”

“There are many kinds of maps,” said Chanyeol. “With different uses. Here, do you see these squiggly lines?” The prince nodded skeptically. “Those mark the topography,” Chanyeol continued. “The terrain and elevation. In battle, seek the higher ground.” He gave the prince a smile. “An old adage – almost always true.” 

Before the prince lost interest, Chanyeol quickly unrolled the next map and laid it on top of the first one. “Now, what do you see on this map?” 

“It’s the same scale…” said Prince Oh, “but it doesn’t have the squiggly lines. Ah, I see lots of little blue lines… water? Rivers?”

“Very good,” said Chanyeol. Positive feedback never hurt with the royals. “The prince is very astute, I see. This map has greater detail of water flows in our kingdom than most – even seasonal streams are mapped here. This can help us see points where we can rest.” 

“Or where enemies might be encamped.” 

“That’s right.” Chanyeol rolled up the map again. “Of course, this kind of map needs to be updated regularly, which takes many resources.”

Chanyeol progressed through other maps – all drawn to the same scale, of the same region, but with different features highlighted on each layer. He moved quickly, trying to keep the prince’s attention. He began to suspect that the prince’s trouble with his former tutor may not have been because the pupil was dull – quite the opposite. The prince was sharp, though it was clear he still needed direction. He lost attention quickly, eyes wandering to servants running errands outside the pavilion or guards marching by. Chanyeol was used to boredom and vacant expressions when he lectured his troops, but he could tell that this particular pupil perhaps had too much in his head rather than too little. 

The gong marking the hours rang out, and Chanyeol rolled up his maps. The prince stood and stretched languidly, then bowed to Chanyeol. “I will see you tomorrow for our next lesson, Park Daejang,” he said. 

The guards stood at attention and followed Prince Oh out of the pavilion. As Kyungsoo passed Chanyeol, he leaned down and whispered in his ear, a smile playing around his lips. “That’s the first time the prince has sat through an entire hour lesson.” Then, he swept away. 

Chanyeol felt pleased with himself for a moment, then immediately began to worry about how he would hold the prince’s attention for the next day’s lesson. 

Over the next few weeks, the lessons proceeded mostly without incident, though Chanyeol had to work harder than he was willing to admit to come up with compelling lesson plans. They were now going through the details of past battles Chanyeol had participated in, with Chanyeol tracing his precious set of maps and showing Prince Oh how the geography so often played a key role. Chanyeol had less time for long walks in the royal gardens than he would have liked, and often stayed up into the night, a candle burning in his room, pacing and thinking, collecting and condensing his years of knowledge. 

Simple lecturing would not do with this prince. Anytime Chanyeol pontificated for too long, the prince would inevitably curl his legs up in his chair and sigh, his eyes wandering away from the maps and documents and roaming around for something interesting – often landing on Chanyeol himself. Battle-weary as he was, even Chanyeol felt pinned, transfixed under that intense gaze. The prince, well-trained in courtly manners, was always exceedingly formal and polite in his speech to Chanyeol. But something about his stare was challenging, almost insolent. Chanyeol became very familiar with a scar on the prince’s cheekbone, unwilling to meet the prince’s eyes in these moments. 

****

Once every two weeks, Junmyeon invited Chanyeol to dine. The meals were always lavish, and tonight’s dinner was no exception. Junmyeon seemed to be in a particularly good mood, even drinking several cups of rice wine. 

“General, I must say, your lessons with the prince seem to be going exceptionally well,” chuckled Junmyeon.

“What makes you say that, Advisor Kim?” asked Chanyeol, helping himself to a fragrant dish of steamed fish.

“Well, the prince hasn’t complained yet!” Junmyeon chortled and motioned for a servant to bring him more wine. “We’ve gone through several calligraphy teachers in this time already. But more importantly, my, ahem, sources say that the material you have been teaching seems to be very practical. Unconventional, as we usually begin with martial philosophy, but practical.”

“I work hard on my lessons,” Chanyeol replied mildly. 

“Good, yes, very good. And, if I may ask, has the prince asked any… strange questions? Or expressed particular interest in some aspect of the topic or another?” Junmyeon was still smiling, but his eyes glittered shrewdly.

Chanyeol thought. Prince Oh was usually quiet in their lessons, only responding when Chanyeol asked. This had been something Chanyeol was concerned about – he didn’t know how to engage the prince more. “No,” he finally replied. “The prince gives each topic equal attention.”

“I see. Well, I trust you will keep me informed if he develops any particular interests. As his advisor, it’s important for me to know these things.”

“Of course, Advisor Kim.”

Junmyeon sighed and leaned forward. “I expect the king will pick a successor in another month or so. The atmosphere in the palace has been… tense. I hardly see Prince Byun these days, so it’s impossible to know what he’s scheming.” 

It was customary in this kingdom for the king to abdicate and enjoy retirement once he felt a suitable successor had emerged amongst his children. The two princes were older now than successors usually were, and even Chanyeol could sense the restlessness in the palace.

“The best I can do is equip Prince Oh with the knowledge and resources he needs to be a suitable ruler – and surround him with talented people such as yourself,” continued Junmyeon, smiling obsequiously at Chanyeol. Chanyeol nodded stiffly in return. As much as Chanyeol enjoyed the food, he would have preferred other company.

That night, as Chanyeol walked slowly back to the guesthouse, he turned over Junmyeon’s words in his head. He did not want to get caught up in courtly drama. It was a warm summer night, and a golden moon hung low in the sky. Before he reached the guesthouse, Chanyeol paused at a small pavilion overlooking a tranquil pond that perfectly reflected the moon. Unconsciously, Chanyeol began to rub his leg, seeking relief from the constant ache. 

A noise rustled behind him, and Chanyeol whipped around, cane gripped tightly in his hand. The polished wood could deal a disabling blow if needed. 

A royal guardsman stood there, the brim of his rounded hat covering his face. Chanyeol didn’t relax his grip. There was something off about the man’s outfit – he had the same hat as the royal guardsman, but his robes looked different.

“What do you want?” growled Chanyeol.

The man raised his head, and beneath the brim of the hat, in the warm moonlight, Chanyeol saw a familiar, intense gaze. 

Chanyeol quickly lowered his cane, leaning his weight onto it as he struggled to lower himself to a kneel. “My apologies, Prince Oh.”

“Please, General Park.” The prince caught Chanyeol’s elbow, pulling him back up. He looked around furtively, but the guesthouse was in a remote part of the palace, and Chanyeol was of too lowly status to need guards. There was no one else around. “Will you walk with me?” 

The prince’s whispered request caught Chanyeol by surprise. Chanyeol raised his eyebrows. He knew a request was not a command, but nonetheless, he must do as the prince wished. “Certainly, Prince, but…”

“General Park, I know this is strange, and I must ask you not to tell anyone… but I believe I am in need of your instruction.” The prince set out towards the shadows of the palace walls, walking slowly so that Chanyeol could keep up. 

“Well, I am tutoring you every day…” Chanyeol replied, puzzled. 

“Not in martial strategy. Or rather, not only that. I have heard that you are… were… a formidable warrior. I want to learn how to defend myself, not just my kingdom.” 

Chanyeol hesitated. They were hidden from prying eyes under the eaves of his guesthouse, and the prince’s face was in even deeper shadow beneath the brim of his hat. “To defend your kingdom _is_ to defend yourself,” Chanyeol said warily. 

“I have reason to believe there are threats to my safety from within.” Chanyeol stiffened, but continued to walk alongside the prince. “Has no one told you about my older brother, Oh Sebin?” 

Chanyeol had heard whispers, rumors, but didn’t dare to respond. 

“He was assassinated when I was 11 years old,” the prince continued in a cold voice. “Sebin was the perfect young prince – strong, filial, well-studied in many subjects. My father clearly favored him, and the people loved him.” The prince paused in front of Chanyeol’s ficus tree, which he had moved out to the little courtyard behind his guesthouse. “I’ll never forget that day…” the prince continued in a whisper. “We were walking to our mother’s quarters… two men disguised as servants suddenly stopped us. Sebin must have suspected something – he put me behind him. They tried to drag us away… there was a knife… and when he began to scream, they cut his throat and fled.” The prince absent-mindedly ran a finger along the scar on his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” said Chanyeol. He understood the horror of war, the dance of death. The despair of the weak. 

“So,” said the prince, breathing through clenched teeth. “I want to learn how to fight. To defend myself, should the need arise. Again.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Prince Oh…”

The prince cut him off with a wave of a hand. “My half-brother, Byun Baekhyun, has trained with Japanese martial artists, and I have heard he is a formidable fighter despite his mild appearance. But for some reason, my advisors have decided against me learning any martial arts. They assure me I am well-protected from any threats,” he said contemptuously. 

“The prince needs to consider that there are many different threats, from poison to sabotage…”

The prince’s eyes flashed. “But none more sure or deadly than a knife. Please, General Park.” Chanyeol was surprised at the pleading note in his voice. “I want to learn. I need to learn. And you’re the only one who understands.” 

Chanyeol stopped and considered the prince’s words, examining him carefully, his determined face partially obscured by the delicate branches of the ficus tree. Chanyeol thought he might understand the prince, but perhaps not in the way that the prince thought. What Chanyeol understood was the fundamental instinct of fear, which pervaded everywhere within the palace walls. And he knew at a deep level what it meant to have control over your body, the confidence that made one sleep easier at night.

“Why me, though?” Chanyeol asked. He hadn’t meant to sound so shy, so flattered, and he cleared his throat, drawing out the deep baritone that had made him the leader on the battlefield. “What makes you think I’m the only one who understands?”

The prince’s eyes flickered to him. “You’re alive, aren’t you? They said you never hung back in battles, even after you were promoted to general.”

Chanyeol sighed. “I’m alive, yes, but not… whole.” He tapped his cane next to his injured leg. “Don’t you think you’d be better off learning from someone who can still actually fight?” 

Again, Chanyeol saw insolence in the prince’s gaze. “Do you really think I’m such a fool, General? I see how the palace guards keep a special eye on you when you are near me, more than anyone else I see regularly.” As if to test Chanyeol, he took an aggressive step forward, his robes swishing in the warm breeze. “To be honest, I think you’re just play-acting with that injury.”

Chanyeol raised his eyebrows as the prince advanced another step, his arm reaching out. Chanyeol sensed the prince didn’t really have a plan, was just testing Chanyeol’s balance, maybe. But Chanyeol felt a tiny flame of resentment spark inside him at being questioned like this, and he stepped out as the prince stepped forward, past him, flicking his cane out at just the right moment so that the prince’s leading foot was knocked forward, and the young man stumbled and almost fell. 

Prince Oh straightened up and whirled around, glaring at Chanyeol. Chanyeol held up a placating hand, and lowered himself onto a bench. He reached down and lifted the hem of his robes, pulling up his pants cuff, and showed the prince his maimed leg. “I’m not pretending, Prince Oh,” he said softly. He watched the prince taking in the sight of the deep white scars, the shriveled flesh, the bone-thin limb. 

“Forgive me, General,” said the prince quietly, biting his lip.

Chanyeol saw the consternation in the prince’s young face. “But you’re not wrong. I’m glad that the palace guards do not underestimate me. At least, I think I am. I am at peace with the limitations my injury has placed upon me, and do not wish to return to my old life.” 

“Then that’s why you’ll be the perfect teacher,” pressed the prince. “You don’t want to manipulate me or gain power. You have skills, and I want to learn them.” 

“How do you know my intentions towards you are really pure?” Chanyeol regretted his phrasing as soon as he said it, and looked away from the prince. 

But Prince Oh sat down beside him on the bench, not seeming to notice. “Because I’ve spent my whole life with people trying to ingratiate themselves to me, or put me in their debt, and everything in between. You would have done so by now, if you had an agenda.”

Chanyeol could not think of how to respond. The prince was right – he didn’t have an agenda, other than fulfilling his duty as the prince’s tutor. And this was just extended lessons, right?

“Very well,” said Chanyeol. “I will teach you what I know.” 

The prince stood, instantly composed and imperious again. “You will teach me here, then. At night, when no one is around. I will ensure secrecy.” He paused. “Can we start tomorrow?” And his voice sounded young again.

Chanyeol nodded, and the prince turned and departed, the brim of his hat low to conceal his face. Chanyeol went inside and got ready for bed, feeling weary, but after he laid down, he could not sleep for some time.

****

If the prince was anticipating their nighttime lesson, he did not show it at all in their usual tutoring session the next day. He was as laconic and blandly polite as ever as Chanyeol quizzed him on the names of villages in the realm and their relative militia strength. He tried to ignore the royal guard obsequiously fanning the prince throughout the lesson. Across the room, Kyungsoo seemed unperturbed by the heat, alert and watchful as always. 

Chanyeol was grateful that the nights were beginning to cool down, a relief from the late summer daytime heat. That evening, he lost himself as usual in his nightly routine of tending his ficus tree and the several cuttings he had gathered from various palace greenery. He hoped that some of them would take root before winter, and he could bring them inside then – if he even stayed at the palace that long. 

A quiet but distinct cough startled him out of his meandering thoughts. The prince. Chanyeol had half-hoped he wouldn’t show up. The more he thought about it, the more he felt wary about seeing the prince outside of their carefully monitored lessons. Who knew what palace drama he might be dragged into? 

But his mind went blank when he saw the prince standing there. The prince had shrugged off his ornate robe, his woven black underclothes loose enough to be comfortable in the summertime but still tight across his broad shoulders. Chanyeol bowed deeply to break his gaze. 

“Please, General, let’s skip the formalities. I estimate I only have an hour before I have to be back in my chambers.” The prince’s voice was quiet, rushed. 

Chanyeol straightened up with effort. “Very well,” he said cautiously. 

For a moment, they stood there looking at each other in the dim light of the crescent moon and a lone candle in the small courtyard of Chanyeol’s guesthouse. Then Chanyeol spoke again. “And what training have you had so far in martial arts?”

He saw the prince set his jaw. “I learned from the palace taekwondo master when I was a child. Though my lessons stopped when I was 10 years old. As I said, they decided it wasn’t a good use of my time.” He grimaced. 

“I knew the palace master. He teaches a very… courtly style of taekwondo. It would not be useful for many situations anyway.” The prince looked at him quizzically, but Chanyeol continued. “Can you show me how you throw a punch?” He walked closer towards the prince, stopped just short of an arm’s length away. 

Prince Oh gave him a haughty look, as if this basic movement was beneath him. He took a breath, and then his arm shot out, straight and powerful, the fist stopping just short of Chanyeol’s chest. 

Chanyeol allowed himself a small smile. “Good. You use your breath. Your arm moves straight – that is, efficiently.” He lifted a hand. “May I?” 

The prince, his fist still extended, nodded stiffly. Chanyeol took his clenched hand, feeling its tensed strength. “You will want to make a tighter fist, lest you hurt yourself upon actual contact.” He gently moved the prince’s thumb lower. “And you will need to tuck your thumb in, so it doesn’t get broken.” He felt the prince’s hand tighten. “But I’m not going to make you work on a punching bag or try and perfect a simple strike. It’s rare that you have the opportunity to punch straight out at an opponent anyway.” He dropped the prince’s hand, which both of them suddenly realized he was still holding. 

Chanyeol turned on his heel and limped a few paces away from the prince to hide his flushed face. He hadn’t taught – or fought – in a long time. That must be why this felt so oddly intimate. “It sounds to me that your brother has an interest in the martial arts,” he continued.

“Half-brother,” muttered the prince sullenly.

“Yes, my apologies, your highness. Your half-brother Prince Byun. He has sought different teachers, different styles. The grappling style from Japan, in particular.” 

“What style will you teach me, General Park?” asked the prince, eager, competitive. 

Chanyeol turned back and frowned at him. “I don’t like to adhere to styles. In combat, you have to reach for whatever you have, use anything you can. Really, there is little art in it. It’s not choreographed fights or point-scored matches out there. It’s just some guy choking you out, and you’re trying to smash his head in with a rock, and both of you are scared shitless and gasping for breath and you have to kill the other or else be killed.” He was speaking loudly now. “There’s no room for style.”

The prince looked taken aback, and Chanyeol stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said, unconsciously reaching down to rub his leg. “It's just… I don’t like killing. Or teaching people how to kill.” 

“I don’t want to learn how to kill. Just to defend myself.”

Chanyeol looked into the prince’s face, which looked to him so young and innocent. Chanyeol wanted to believe him.

“Right,” Chanyeol sighed. “Then let’s start with some basic deflecting techniques.” 

****

The next day was Chanyeol’s off day for tutoring. This was just as well, as his muscles ached from the after-hours lesson with the prince. His forearms were sore from the prince’s parrying hands, and his shoulders and thighs were bruised from falling. As he took an aching stroll through the palace garden, Chanyeol slightly regretted showing the prince how to grip an enemy’s robes and use them to throw him to the ground, as he himself had ended up as the practice target. 

Just as with his lessons by day, the prince had grown impatient for being a quick learner. Chanyeol envied the sense of control the prince had over his graceful limbs. Even before his injury, Chanyeol felt that his gangly hands and feet had always been too far from his brain, unruly and reluctant to follow orders. 

But though he was damaged, Chanyeol was strong. He had spent his teenage years as a foot soldier carrying heavy packs across rough terrain – nor had he carried any lesser a load when he was made general – and those muscles were laid deep inside him. And in the past year he had worked the earth on his estate alongside the farmers who used his land. Though he looked unsteady without his cane, he had calibrated his own sense of balance, stronger here and there to make up for his uneven frame. 

He still remembered how to roll, though he lamented that his leg flopped uselessly along with him rather than tucking in as an obedient limb. Even the young prince had tired out first, panting and watching Chanyeol warily as he rose again with the help of his cane after each practice throw. 

Eventually, the prince had offered Chanyeol his arm each time Chanyeol stood up from the ground. His hand was warm and strong, though soft from palace life. “It’s alright, Prince Oh,” Chanyeol had said. “I can get up on my own.”

“I know,” the prince had replied. “But I want to support you, if you’ll let me.” And despite his pride, Chanyeol had.

Chanyeol turned these words over in his mind as he pondered the changing leaves of a colorful maple tree in the garden.

****

Chanyeol wondered idly if he had a problem at the next regular banquet with Junmyeon. Although he knew that he had to stay sharp around the wily advisor, his mind kept wandering to the shadowy courtyard where he and the prince met most nights, and would meet later this very night. Each night the prince arrived in the disguise of a palace guard, and each night Chanyeol warily bowed until he saw the piercing eyes under the brim of the black hat, and the prince gripped his shoulder and made him rise. 

“… wouldn’t you agree, General? General Park?”

Chanyeol’s mind wandered back to the stuffy room at the mention of his name.

“Yes, Advisor Kim?”

Junmyeon smiled, though his face was confused. He tried to smooth over Chanyeol’s obvious lack of attention. “The music is quite loud, isn’t it? I was just saying to Advisor Do here that with the harvest festival coming up, the warring border regions will likely be quiet for a few days.”

Chanyeol grunted in assent.

“It could be a good time to launch an attack and finally subdue some of the problem areas,” continued Junmyeon. “Doesn’t that seem like a reasonable tactic? Offense as defense?”

Chanyeol helped himself to more food. “That’s up to the current general.”

Junmyeon pressed on. “Of course, some of these skirmishes could be prevented if the king presented a more united vision of leadership. It’s years overdue that he should choose a successor.”

“What are you saying, Advisor Kim?” Kyungsoo asked sharply.

“Just stating the obvious, Advisor Do. If the king named a successor, a strong heir, some of these conflict regions might fall in line.”

Kyungsoo frowned and stared at Junmyeon. Further down the table, several advisors that Chanyeol knew were loyal to the other prince, Prince Byun, began whispering. 

Chanyeol turned his attention to the musicians and dancers. The courtly arguments made his head ache, and he yearned for the cool evening air of his courtyard, the company of the prince…

****

And so it was with a bounce in his uneven gait that Chanyeol arrived back at his guesthouse, only to find that the prince had already arrived, a lean slash of black fabric against the dusty walls.

“Good evening, Prince Oh…” Chanyeol began with his usual bow, but the prince interrupted him.

“Please, General Park. Just call me Sehun.”

Chanyeol straightened up and raised an eyebrow. “Surely that’s too familiar for his royal highness.”

Sehun circled him and crouched into a fighting stance. “You can’t call me His Highness anyway. That’s only if I’m named my father’s successor. For all we know, I could be demoted to an ordinary commoner by next month, if the succession rumors I’ve heard are true.” 

“Would that be so bad?” Chanyeol asked, parrying Sehun’s extremely obvious hook punch. “Then it would be simple to call you by your given name.”

The prince stood back and surveyed Chanyeol imperiously. “You will call me Sehun now,” he pronounced. 

Chanyeol bit back a smile. “Alright,” he said. “Then you can’t call me General Park. You have to call me Chanyeol-hyung.”

“Chanyeol-hyung?”

“I’m much older than you, after all.”

“You are?” came the uncertain reply.

“I was born in the Year of the Monkey,” said Chanyeol, sighing, feeling the weight of the decades on his shoulders. 

Sehun’s eyes bulged. “You’re barely 2 years older than me!” he exclaimed hotly. “What’s with the old man act? _‘Back in my day’… ‘The way things were back then’…_ ” He parroted some of Chanyeol’s choice phrases from their lessons back at him. 

Chanyeol jumped in surprise. “You’re already… I mean, the prince was born in the Year of the Dog? I thought you were much younger…”

Sehun scowled. “Do I look like a little boy to you?” 

“No, not at all, Prince… I mean, Sehun…” Chanyeol stammered. “You just… usually a prince… I mean… never mind.”

Sehun sighed. “I know. A prince usually ascends to the throne when they’re a teenager, or not long after. My father has taken his time in choosing a successor. It’s been drawn out because of the wars. As a result, my own fate has been delayed. Things like finding a partner…” His eyes flickered to Chanyeol, who looked away. He hadn’t meant to bring up the prince’s predicament. 

“You will just be all the more capable when the time comes,” said Chanyeol, trying to smooth over the sudden tension in the prince’s voice. 

“Perhaps. With your help.” Sehun straightened up and raised his fists again. “Are you ready? I won’t hold back, old man.” 

****

By day, Chanyeol and Sehun sat stiffly through their lessons. Sehun was well-practiced with concealment, it seemed. The prince was sometimes so formal and aloof with him that Chanyeol doubted what he thought he knew of the prince’s true personality. But then, at night, as they trained, Sehun was relaxed and full of sly humor. Each night, he acted more familiar with Chanyeol.

Chanyeol knew that the hard work of martial training built strong bonds between soldiers. It was why the military made training was so rigorous. He saw, half-pleased and half-scared, that he and the prince were becoming bound by the sweat and strain they shared each night, closer than an ordinary teacher and student could or should be. 

He tried to center himself, to draw back, but could not deny he craved Sehun’s company, the warmth of his contact in the increasingly cold and lonely palace. The scent of incense on his black underclothes, the tautness of his muscles in the moment before Chanyeol, as always, easily threw him to the ground.

These inappropriate thoughts were precisely why he decided to start training the prince in weapons. They might not be in such close range with a sword or a spear between them. 

He had requested training weapons from Advisor Do – for himself, to exercise his wounded leg, he claimed – and the resourceful advisor arranged for a set of light wooden weapons to be delivered to Chanyeol’s guesthouse. 

When the prince arrived that night, Chanyeol was holding a wooden sword in front of him. He worried he wouldn’t be able to control himself if the prince came any closer. A light rain had begun to fall, and Chanyeol was glad for the gentle, quenching mist.

Sehun saw the weapons, and raised his eyebrows. 

“Has the prince trained in weapons before?” Chanyeol asked.

“Of course,” snorted Sehun. “Every royal and noble is trained in archery and swordsmanship.” 

“Archery won’t help against an assassin. And I assume you mean that kind of sword,” Chanyeol replied, inclining his head towards a silver decorative straightsword hanging on the wall of the guesthouse.

“Yes…” said Sehun, the flat tone of his voice indicating that this should be obvious. 

“Well,” said Chanyeol, “Those won’t do you much good either. They’re aristocratic weapons, double-edged and flimsy. Only good for slashing peasants as you ride by on your horse.” He tried to suppress those painful memories and focus on the rain-blurred prince in front of him, whom Chanyeol told himself had not and would not ever treat his subjects like that. 

Sehun frowned. “Then what do – did – you use in battle?”

Chanyeol stooped carefully to pick up another wooden sword and tossed it to Sehun, “A much trustier weapon. The jedok broadsword.” The prince easily caught it, though he held it clumsily. “Note the long blade and handle. Once you are used to it, both ends can be used to attack and defend.” 

Sehun watched Chanyeol handle the sword and mimicked the way he held it ready in front of him. The rain dripped down the edges of the wooden blade pooled in the crook of Chanyeol’s thumb. 

“Do you want me to explain more, or do you want to just try?” Chanyeol asked. 

In response, Sehun lunged at him, thrusting his sword straight forward in a graceful movement. Graceful, but weak, Chanyeol thought as he easily knocked Sehun’s sword aside. 

“You’ll have no strength like that, the aristocratic straightsword movements. Think slashing, circular movements.” Chanyeol tried to demonstrate, but his leg hindered his turning, and he stumbled, splashing into a puddle. This annoyed him more than usual today. “Never mind, let’s try again.” 

They squared off, and Sehun tried to attack him at an angle, but his direct stabbing motion was the same. Chanyeol deflected him again, this time rapping the back of Sehun’s hand with the blunt wooden blade. The prince leapt back, stung. Sehun shook his damp hair out of his eyes and tried to relax into a readied stance again. 

They tried several more times, but Chanyeol quickly found himself frustrated. Sehun moved so linearly, just as his perfect posture and straight limbs might indicate. He couldn’t seem to find any power or aim with the weapon. And Chanyeol felt like he was failing as a teacher – of all movements, these were the ones furthest gone. He thought he had come to peace with his injury, but now it was hampering him, embarrassing him… He felt only one step away from losing his footing, falling onto the slick earth again, shattering his limb…

Sehun cried out when Chanyeol rapped his hand away with such force that Chanyeol’s own thin wooden weapon shattered. Sehun instantly dropped his sword and sank to his knees, cradling his hand to his chest. Blinking in surprise, Chanyeol realized the prince’s hand was red and purple with welts from the force of Chanyeol’s blows. Why hadn’t he said anything? How could Chanyeol not have noticed? 

Chanyeol dropped to the drenched stone and hurriedly pulled himself to the prince. Sehun was staring at him with such a mixture of resentment and betrayal that Chanyeol felt something twist up inside himself. He realized they had always known each other’s boundaries, somehow sensed these lines in their earlier training without even saying anything, and now Chanyeol had hurt him… 

Before he knew what he was doing, Chanyeol gently clasped Sehun’s injured hand and pressed it to his mouth, murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He regretted his calloused hands against the prince’s soft skin, and somehow the most tender touch he could offer was from his lips. 

Sehun’s eyes widened, and Chanyeol froze. What was he thinking? The prince pulled his hand away, and Chanyeol prepared to bow and apologize profusely, but then Sehun pressed his lips against Chanyeol’s mouth, where his hand had been a moment before. 

The kiss felt easy, so easy. They already knew each other’s movements, Sehun pushing against Chanyeol, straight and furious, as Chanyeol balanced himself upright, encircled the prince with a long arm. Sehun’s kisses were hot and eager, and Chanyeol surrendered without thinking, though he had in fact thought about this many times before. 

“Come, over here, let me help you,” Sehun panted, winding an arm around Chanyeol’s waist and gently pulling him upright, then towards the threshold of his guesthouse. Chanyeol let himself be supported, sword and cane cast aside, leaning into the prince’s strong frame as they moved as one towards his bed. There, Sehun pushed him down and in one smooth movement straddled him atop the silken sheets. It would have felt very natural to let the prince continue – he moved in just the right way, in just the right places… 

Chanyeol folded his hands over Sehun’s, which were untying the coarse strings of his shirt collar. The prince’s right hand was still swollen and painful-looking. “Your hand…” Chanyeol started. 

The prince tossed his head impatiently, the raindrops still clinging to his hair finally shaken off. “I’m fine.” 

“But…”

“Look, if you can do this without your left leg, I can do it without my right hand,” insisted Sehun. As if to make his point, he dropped onto his right elbow, his face inches from Chanyeol’s. At the same time, the prince’s left hand groped downwards.

“The prince seems…” Chanyeol croaked in a hoarse voice, “… very… experienced,” he finished lamely. 

Sehun snorted with laughter. “Still think you’re so much wiser, old man?” he retorted, but his voice was not unkind. “I’m the prince. Lesser royals and nobles have been throwing themselves at me since I was of age.”

Chanyeol gently shifted Sehun onto the bed next to him. “And you took advantage of that?”

Sehun’s eyes blazed. “I didn’t take advantage of anyone, if that’s what you mean. I told you, I’ve spent my whole life with people trying to ingratiate themselves to me. I know when interest is genuine and when it is transactional.” He sat up and continued unlacing his shirt. “Believe it or not, it is possible to have some fun around here sometimes.” He pulled the flimsy black fabric over his shoulders, and when he leaned back in, his dark eyes shining, Chanyeol was lost. 

****

From then on, Sehun tumbled into Chanyeol’s bed almost every night. Sometimes, Sehun didn’t even want to train. He just stepped into Chanyeol’s courtyard with an intent look in his eyes, and Chanyeol knew he was about to be dragged, willingly, into the small bedroom that had become their secret haven. 

It wasn’t until a week later that Chanyeol thought to question his luck. 

The prince was sliding back into his clothes, and Chanyeol realized that the lingering smell of sweat and heat would surely be obvious to anyone the prince encountered on his way back to his chambers. “Isn’t this… the lessons… and you being here… dangerous? If anyone found out?” 

Sehun paused, shrugged. “Why should anyone care what – or who – I do in my free time?”

Chanyeol propped himself up in bed. “Not that. I mean, what if your advisors found out I was teaching you martial arts? Isn’t that countering their plans for you?” 

Sehun leaned down towards him, snaking himself back into bed and on top of Chanyeol. “Then maybe you should just give up on the lessons. We have other things we can do.” 

Chanyeol tried not to grin as the prince’s hot breath tickled his neck. “I’m serious, Sehun. Don’t you have guards watching over you every night?”

Sehun sat back, frowned. “I have a very foolproof scheme. My best friend, the court dancer, Jongin…. well, he distracts Advisor Do most nights, shall we say. I noticed their mutual attraction a while ago and I’m not ashamed to use it to my own advantage.” 

Chanyeol snickered, thinking of the serious-looking Kyungsoo shirking his duties with a royal dancer. But he still couldn’t get the nagging worry out of his head. 

Sehun noticed his expression, even in the dim candlelight. “I’ll be fine.” He ran a hand down Chanyeol’s bare chest. “In fact, I’m re-thinking going back to my chambers just yet.” 

As they kissed, Chanyeol gently pushed Sehun out of his lap. “You really shouldn’t linger,” he murmured, though it was very tempting to just not say anything. 

But Sehun pouted, and climbed back on top of him. “No, I don’t want to go yet,” he said petulantly. He ground his hips against Chanyeol’s. “I don’t think you want me to go either.” 

Chanyeol reddened. It wasn’t his fault he always got so, so hard when he was near Sehun. Sehun’s kisses trailed down his neck. “Please don’t make me go yet…” the prince whispered teasingly as his hand wrapped around Chanyeol’s cock. 

“Mmm, Sehun,” Chanyeol moaned. “I wish you could stay all night. Ah, I even wish we could wake up together.” 

He regretted his words immediately. They sounded far too romantic. He knew there was nothing for him with the prince besides this secret tryst, and he didn’t want Sehun to think he wanted anything more from him either. 

The prince stilled next to him. “Really?” he said in a small voice. 

“I mean, uh, I guess it would be nice,” Chanyeol mumbled as he tried to distract Sehun with a sloppy kiss. 

But the prince wriggled out of his grasp and stared at Chanyeol so intently that he blushed again. Finally, Sehun kissed him again, but this time it was slower, tantalizingly so.

And the prince didn’t leave for several more hours, until the candle had long since burned down to a melted pool of wax. 

****

Chanyeol liked to think that he was still trying. Trying to maintain some distance from the prince. Trying to not stare at his lips during their official tutoring sessions. Trying to teach him just a bit more about self-defense at night, even if it was only a few minutes before he got overwhelmed and gave in to Sehun’s teasing. 

“But this can’t be appropriate. I’m your _teacher_ ,” he protested one night.

“You’re my _subject_ ,” the prince replied with a raised eyebrow. 

The prince stayed longer and longer each night. They would doze off in each other’s arms, only for Sehun to leap out of bed, once just as the sun was rising, and dash off to his quarters. Chanyeol was sure the prince must have been seen, must be coming up with ever-more outlandish excuses. But he didn’t want it to end, so he didn’t ask. 

He grew paranoid even when the prince wasn’t around, his eyes catching on tiny movements that could be the flutter of a spy disappearing around the corner – or simply an innocent dragonfly. 

Deep in his heart, he knew it couldn’t last. The advisors would decide the prince had learned enough, or a successor would be named, and Chanyeol would be dismissed.  
Or they would be caught. Or the prince would tire of his broken toy. Chanyeol didn’t know which of these he feared most. 

****

In the end, both Chanyeol’s wish and his fear came true. One morning he blearily awoke to sun streaming in through the silk curtains in his guesthouse. Sehun was curled into his side, head on Chanyeol’s chest, fast asleep. Chanyeol gently combed back the prince’s soft black hair and marveled at the glow of a sun ray on his cheek. Then, the morning gong sounded faintly in the distance. Chanyeol sat bolt upright –Sehun should have been long gone. 

Just at that moment, he heard footsteps dashing towards his door. He barely had time to swing his legs over the side of the bed and grab his dragon-headed cane before the panels burst open. 

It was Kyungsoo, wide-eyed and panting. He ignored the startled, groggy prince, shirtless in Chanyeol’s bed, and Chanyeol’s own state of undress. 

“Prince. They’ve found out where you are… the royal guards are coming to collect you…” He gasped for breath. “Hurry… you can still…” His eyes darted towards the pile of the prince’s emerald green robes in the corner, and then gazed beseechingly at Chanyeol. Chanyeol understood instantly. 

“What… how did you know I was here?” croaked Sehun. 

“A good advisor always knows where his charge is,” hissed Kyungsoo as he ran to collect Sehun’s robes. “Hurry, get dressed. We’ll tell them you had a lesson… an early lesson…”

Chanyeol himself struggled to tie on his robe and throw on a coat, feeling helpless and stupid. Of course an advisor as fastidious as Kyungsoo wouldn’t have been so negligent as to let the prince wander off each night. He had probably had them watched, though Chanyeol didn’t want to think about to what extent. 

Kyungsoo was just finishing adjusting the prince’s sash when Chanyeol heard a sound outside, not the sound of a retinue of royal guards marching up, but something like a sinister hiss of metal. “Advisor Do…” he started. Kyungsoo straightened up and turned towards Chanyeol when something hurtled through the paper-paneled doors and struck him.

It was a dagger. 

Kyungsoo toppled towards Chanyeol, who tried to steady him, but the sudden weight was too much and his leg erupted with pain. He staggered backwards, and the two of them collapsed to the floor. He could feel the warm wetness of Kyungsoo's blood on one of his hands. 

“Prince! Get back!” he shouted hoarsely, but it was too late. Sehun had dashed to the threshold of the guesthouse, and Chanyeol could only watch as he pursued a retreating black-clad figure towards the walls of Chanyeol’s courtyard. 

Kyungsoo groaned, and Chanyeol realized the dagger had struck him in the shoulder. He swiftly tore off a patch of his robe and pressed it to the advisor’s wound. “Can you hold this?” he asked Kyungsoo wildly. “Press hard.”

The advisor nodded weakly. “The prince…”

“I know,” said Chanyeol. He fumbled for his cane and pushed himself slowly off the ground. 

Sehun streaked across the courtyard and caught up to the figure, and Chanyeol saw him grab the would-be assassin by the leg as they attempted to scale the wall. 

“Sehun! No!” he shouted, but the prince and the assassin had already collapsed in a jumble to the ground. Chanyeol limped as quickly as he could towards them, prepared to fight – to protect the prince at any cost – but suddenly the courtyard was filled with other figures. The royal guards were marching through his gate, flooding around him, blocking his path.

Chanyeol screamed as he saw another knife flash through the air – the two figures were struggling on the ground, with swirls of emerald and black, white skin and a sudden gash of red, and then several people were grabbing him, dragging him back… 

“I’ve got him, I’ve got him!” Sehun’s voice rang out in the courtyard. The prince’s arm was around the assassin’s neck in a chokehold, the knife skidding away from them on the ground. Spears from the royal guard were out, pointing at the two figures, unable to strike for fear of harming the prince. 

“Take him away for questioning,” the prince ordered through gritted teeth. Several guards moved forward to drag the struggling assassin away. In an instant, he was trussed up in ropes and a makeshift gag, though he continued to flail with fearsome strength. 

The guards holding Chanyeol began to drag him forward after the defeated assassin. “What…” he began to protest. 

“Halt!” Sehun shouted, breathing heavily as he got to his feet. Chanyeol was relieved to see that he appeared uninjured. The guards stopped and looked back at the prince. “Not him… he’s… not involved,” Sehun finished awkwardly, but maintaining his imperious expression. 

“Are you certain, Prince Oh?” came another voice from across the courtyard. The immaculately garbed figure of Advisor Kim emerged from Chanyeol’s carefully tended garden, carelessly pushing aside the delicate branches of his ficus tree. Everyone in the courtyard stilled. “I believe this man may have been involved with some nefarious plot on your life.”

Chanyeol was speechless. He felt a surge of rage begin to well up inside him, and the guards held him even more tightly as he struggled. 

“That’s preposterous,” retorted Sehun, though he sounded scared. “He is a general. And my tutor.”

“An ex-general,” Junmyeon corrected as he walked towards the center of the courtyard. “And someone who was not exactly friendly to the palace after his fighting days were over. Imagine my fear, prince, when this morning you were nowhere to be found. And then a trusted guard told me you had been spotted last night in this very courtyard with the general… fighting, was it?” Junmyeon grimaced, but to Chanyeol it looked like a smirk. “Until we unravel this incident, the general will need to be imprisoned.”

The last word hit Chanyeol in the gut. His mouth went dry, and everything seemed very far away. 

“No… you can’t…” protested Sehun. “Where is Advisor Do? He could vouch for Chanyeol… I mean, General Park.”

“Unfortunately, Advisor Do is in no state to provide advising of any kind,” replied Junmyeon coldly. “The guards are attending to him. I shall seek his counsel when – if – he recovers.” 

The last thing Chanyeol saw before he was dragged out of the courtyard was Sehun’s stricken face. The prince looked terrified – was he scared for Chanyeol, or of him?

**Author's Note:**

> To the prompter: I hope I did your prompt justice! I took some liberties with what subjects Chanyeol is covering. 
> 
> Full prompt (DF005): Sehun is the young prince of a kingdom at war, and Chanyeol is his tutor. During the day, Chanyeol advises and teaches him about government, religion, and courtly things. During the night, they come together as one. 
> 
> It was such a delicious prompt that I couldn't resist taking it on. Of course I ended up with many ideas and wrote a story much longer than I could finish in time for the posting deadline. Thank you to the mods for being so accommodating - it's been so hard these days with health issues and, y'know, everything in the world. The rest of the story is outlined and should be posted very soon, please stay tuned!


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